Prison without walls
by Liek
Summary: one shot. When Vilya falls in the hands of orcs, one ancient elf remembers his desire and he uses Aragorn to get what he wants.


_**Prison without Walls**_

_A/N: for those who do not know it... Vilya, the elvenring carried by Elrond is the ring of Air. _

_

* * *

Prison without Walls

* * *

_

A part of the creature knew he had not always been like this; and it remembered that what he had been before had been better.  
That better side of him could see all the creature saw, and feel all the creature felt, but he could not interact with its surroundings.  
It was trapped, it could only watch.  
The body of the orc was its prison cell. A cell from which no escape was possible, except the final one. The only, everlasting relief called death.  
But the part of the creature that wanted to die was immortal.

For it was the part of the orc that was elf.

His fea, his spirit, was trapped inside this deformed body, unable to leave. Morgoth had tricked him, imprisoned him, enslaved him.  
Another will now controlled his body, and even after all these long years of suffering he still hadn't figured out if it was another soul completely, or just a darker part of himself.

With every fight the orc started, with every innocent it hurt, the elf inside it felt as if he himself was committing the crimes. He knew it was him doing these horrible things, but for the fact that he never, ever, would do such a thing.

For he was no orc. In body he was, but in soul he wasn't.

In the other orcs around him the elf could recognize former family-members, old friends, fellow warriors. All of them had changed, but not beyond recognition. Sometimes the elves they had once been became visible in the orcs. In the way they walked, in the words they used.

It hurt the elf that the people he cared about suffered as greatly as him. He wondered if they felt like he did, it they too were looking out through the eyes of the orcs around him, without being able to stop or control the monster they had become.  
He sometimes looked into the eyes of the other orcs, searching for a glimpse of understanding, a hint of friendship.

Yet he found none.

Sometimes the orc he was now fought elves, and with all his might he would try to stop himself. He willed his orcish body to step into the sharp blades, to catch their arrows with his chest, anything to stop the beating of his wounded heart.

But the orc he had transformed into couldn't care less what he wanted, and somehow his darker side, his prison, was always stronger.

The beast ducked and moved out of harm's way and the elf lived to see another day.

Ages went by.

* * *

"Pretty ring." The greed was visible in the creature's eyes. Despite the darkness of its soul, the longing burned.

The elvenlord looked up in shock, a coldness spreading through his body.  
No.  
They could not take that away from him. They could hit him, hurt him, murder him for all he cared, but he could not let them take it.  
Not Vilya.  
The orc looked down on him, licking his ugly lips, smiling.

"Give me pretty ring! I want it!"  
"This ring is not for those with evil purposes." Elrond spoke, while his heart was beating faster than ever. "It will not serve you."  
"I want it." The orc repeated, his voice a deep hiss. "_Give to me_."  
Elrond tried to remain calm as the orc pulled a dagger. He knew they would hurt him either way, as he was the orc's captive now. He would not let one of these evil creatures have Vilya.  
"Me…Mine. Give it."  
"It is not yours. _You shall not touch it._" He spoke again, trying to keep the tremble from his voice.

He wished that the words he spoke had any meaning to them, for he knew he could not prevent the orcs from anything. Not as he was now, tied to a tree and unable to move, both because of his bonds and his broken bones.

Elrond could see the orc's grin. It knew.  
"_Give me,_" it spoke again with audible greed. "Give me… or I will take."

The elvenlord braced himself for the impact.  
'Please!' he begged the Valar, as he bit the insides of his cheeks in order not to scream. 'Please, help me! Not Vilya!' His mouth filled with blood.

'VALAR!'

He could feel the ring begin to slip; the blood on his fingers was making it impossible for him to hold on.

'_VALAR! NO!_'

From the corner of his eyes he could see the orc's satisfied grin as the vile creature slipped the ring around one of its own filthy fingers.

And then he saw it. For a split second the eyes of the orc's eyes changed, and a soft mental voice joined his own.

"_HELP ME!" _

Then it was gone and he was shouting alone again.

* * *

He woke up alone in the darkness, woken by something that had penetrated his feverish dreams. The sky was dark; darker than he had ever seen, not because it was night but because of the thick black clouds that absorbed all sunlight. The air was thick and hard to breath.  
All sound had stopped, true silence reined the earth, no bird sang, so breeze shifted a leave. The world was waiting.

A storm was coming.

The ranger had seen storms before. He had moved through snow, fought in blizzards, and he had seen a sandstorm. But somehow the storm that was coming unnerved him more than any storm he had seen before.

As the ranger looked up at the sky and saw the twister form he knew something terrible had happened. That he, in spite of the wound and his fever, in spite of the fact that he was too tired to move another muscle, should move as fast as he could.

* * *

Large blocks of ice hailed down upon his back, and the freezing wind made sure there was not a single second he could stop shivering. And yet the fever that consumed him kept him warm, and his will kept his sore muscles moving.  
He had to keep moving.

With every hailstone that destroyed the crops, with every wind that blew a hole into a roof, it became clearer to Aragorn; if Elrond had not stopped this storm, something was wrong with him.

He moved on, in the direction of his home, ever reminding himself that if he just kept placing one foot in front of the other he would eventually get there; that sooner or later he would stumble on his home.

But suddenly he stopped, raised his head and listened, not noticing the sudden cold.

It was the only thing that could keep him from reaching his destination, the only thing that could keep him from going home: a distant call for help.

It sounded like his father.

* * *

The endless rain formed a wall of water, changing the world around him to a wet blur. Trees were nothing more than dark shapes as the rain made everything unrecognisable.  
The ranger was shaking with every step. Though the constant rain had managed to soak through his leather jacket he could feel his body burn. The healer inside him told him to quit.

Whatever tracking sense Aragorn had, it was useless in this weather, as the endless rain would wash away more than just the tracks.  
Even if Aragorn should manage to incidentally stumble upon a path leading him to Elrond, the ranger would most likely pass him by without ever noticing.

But though Aragorn knew that continuing on this path was useless, he kept going, moving on the belief that he had to do this. That it could be the only chance he had to save his father, and that he would never forgive himself if he did not taken it.  
So he moved on.  
One foot in front of the other.

In the distance a voice kept calling him: "Help me! _Help me!_"

* * *

He leaned against a tree, forgetting everything as the world spun around him and he could not move. With every call for help that came to him he tried to get up, only to sink to his knees again seconds later.

It was frustrating to know he was so close to Imladris, so close to the healing draughts of Elrond, yet unable to reach them. Only a few miles away were all the medicines, all the help he needed, and all the warriors to free his father. Just out of his reach.

Not for the first time in his life he wished he were born an elf, to be immune to all disease, to be able to move through cold but not to feel it. To be able to walk through a storm and survive.  
His hands had stopped shaking, but Aragorn knew it was a bad sign, not a good one. His body had given up trying to keep him warm, soon it would give up trying anything.

"Help me!" the distant voice called and this time Aragorn did not move. "I can't." he whispered softly. "I tried, but I can't! I'm not strong enough!" He was shivering again, not of cold this time, but of the sobs that escaped his body.

"_Help me_" the voice demanded without mercy.

But the ranger had closed his ears to it, and did not notice the voice had sounded nothing like his father this time.

* * *

There was a light moving in the darkness, a flame, a candle that burned in spite of the rain, first moving to him, and then away from him again. The ranger followed it with his eyes, longing for its warmth.

"Come back." he whispered as the light threatened to move out of his sight. He got up, though he was swaying on his feet. "Please… come back!" he moved a few steps, seeking support by every tree he passed. "Please come back!"

For a while it seemed it was listening to him, as if it waited for him to catch up. But then the light moved again, and Aragorn stumbled behind it, not noticing that the trees grew fewer and fewer, and the mountains grew ever closer.  
His eyes were so fixed on the small light in the darkness that he did not notice it leading him deep into orc-territory.

* * *

Aragorn moved on and on, not knowing where he was, not seeing anything but the light, and sometimes a glimpse the cloaked figure carrying it.  
The person moved over the rough terrain with an ease that was unnerving, and then halted until Aragorn's clumsy feet had caught up.  
If the ranger stopped for a few seconds he could see the figure turn its hood towards him. Waiting. As soon as Aragorn moved another step it moved as well.

"Please… stop!" Aragorn shouted as he leaned against a rock catching his breath again as the sweat dripped off his forehead. "Wait! _Please!_" The figure did not answer.  
The ranger sank to his knees while he tried his best to fill his lungs with oxygen again.  
"Please… " he whispered with tears of frustration in his eyes. "Please… just wait..wait…"

"_Help me." _

"Ada?"

The voice sounded like his father's, and Aragorn was back on his feet in spite of himself.

"_Help me!" _The pain and desperation were audible now.

Aragorn yelled at the disappearing figure. "Ada! Wait! I'm coming! Hold on!"  
Without further thought the ranger moved again, ever deeper into the darkness.

* * *

"Wait!" Aragorn was short of breath. "Wait, Ada, please!"  
The dark figure had moved on and on, over razor-sharp rocks, past ravines so deep the bottom was not visible, and the ranger followed.

Always, when he was on the brink of giving up, the cloaked figure called for help in the voice of his father, and ever it brought the ranger back on his feet, ever it gave him strength for just one more step.

* * *

It was lost.  
Aragorn stared into the distance, desperately searching the light of the candle.

It had ever moved faster than he had, forever egging him on by moving in and out of sight, always trying to get the ranger to move faster, or move in impossible ways, as if he knew the ranger depended on him.  
But now he was gone.  
Aragorn was alone in orc-land, in the labyrinth of the darkest mountains without his guide, while the rain washed away all tracks that could lead him back.

The wind had stopped, no-one was calling for help anymore. It had just gone quiet, very quiet, as if all that lived was afraid to move.

"Help me."

The ranger froze. The call for help had not been distant now, but close, very close, in fact the breath of the elf who had spoken the words touched the hairs on the back of his neck. It had not been his father's voice that had spoken.

The words did not sound desperate any longer, but were more of an order, maybe even a threat.  
"Help me." The creature behind him hissed again.

Aragorn turned.

* * *

Estel was used to elves that towered above him, taller even though he himself was tall, but this elf was small, with darker hair and darker eyes than Estel had ever seen.  
This elf had been born nowhere near Rivendell.

"Help me." He spoke again this time in strange harsh tone, which was at the same time pleading somehow. For a moment Estel wondered if it were the only words of Sindarin the elf knew, but the elf spoke again.

"Kill me."  
The duality of the two requests immobilized Aragorn, not knowing what to do.  
"Do it!" The elf spoke again, but his dark eyes had turned yellow, orc-like, and obeying him was the last thing on Aragorn's mind.

"Go on…" The elf stared moving towards him, an orc-like grin on his face. "Kill me." The lips of the elf did not move, and yet the ranger heard him speak. The elf moved closer. "Kill me." Aragorn's grip on the hilt of his sword tightened.

The elf moved closer without noticing, and for the first time Aragorn realized that the elf missed the elvish glow, as if he somehow extracted light from the air around him instead, and used it to form his body.

"You are no elf." The ranger spoke in a deep threatening voice, though he knew he was in no shape to fight. Still he readied his sword.

The creature continued to move closer, as if he had not noticed Aragorn speak, or the sword that was now pointed at him. "Kill me." He spoke again. He was so close now Aragorn could behead him without taking a step forward. "Kill me…," the elf moved even closer, "or be killed yourself."

The ranger's reflexes were slow, and yet he managed to move away when the elf suddenly jumped at him, though he could feel its nails connect with his face, barely missing his eyes.

Reacting on years of experience he placed his sword between himself and the creature and kept turning, even though dizziness made him ill, keeping an eye on his attacker at all times, while it circled around him as a predator.

There was something about the movement of the creature that made the hairs on the back of the ranger's neck stand upright. It moved through the air as if it had no weight, its feet barely touching the ground.

"Kill me…" it hissed once more.  
"Who are…" but the ranger did not get to finish his question before the creature attacked again with all the fury of a mad dog. Aragorn raised his sword and blocked.  
The sword did not stop the elf-like creature; it did not even slow him down.

It slid through the elf as if it was sliding through thin air, leaving no wounds, no blood, nothing at all. Yet Aragorn could feel the elf's fingers on his throat.

"You will help me." The creature pressed its face so close that Estel could see nothing but its eyes. "You will help me or you will die."  
Estel could feel the creature's grip tighten; yet when he fought it his hands met nothing but empty air. He could not speak, he could not breath and his attempt to free himself became weaker every second.

While he struggled for air that did not come, and dizziness took over his mind the elf's body disappeared, though the air he left behind kept its death grip on the ranger's throat.

* * *

He was not dead.  
He knew that before he opened his eyes again, as he could still feel the pain and the strange heat of the fever claiming his body, though he did not understand why he was not dead.

He could feel the presence of the creature linger in the air, as soon as he opened his eyes he could see the light had returned in the distance.

It was not as friendly to him as it had been; its warmth was no longer appealing. Still he got up from his knees and followed it.  
He remembered the way the fingers had closed around his throat. The ranger had fought battles before. He had faced death several times without being afraid, fought wars without hesitating, but this was different. The air itself had put its hands around him. The air had fought against him under the command of the strange elf.

And though the elf was gone now, burning candles in the distance, the air had remained. It surrounded him, moved around his body. There was no way he could escape it. It was everywhere.

Aragorn shivered as he felt the air tighten around him when he hesitated a few seconds.  
"Help me" the voice of the wind spoke almost mockingly.  
The ranger moved on.

* * *

He moved for days as a slave to the wind and the light in front of him, not daring to rest longer than a minute, never forgetting that the light in front of him decided if he should live or die. He saw no escape from the prison he was in, as there were no walls to hold him back, no chains that could be broken, and yet he was a captive.

"Help me"

Aragorn had started to hate that message now. And even though there was despair in the voice that was not faked, he did not feel sorry.  
He no longer had the energy to feel sorry for anybody but himself.

* * *

"Please… Valar, help me…" The words were not shouted this time but whispered, not far from the place Aragorn had finally dropped to his knees, unable to move any further. He had given up, the strength of his body had left him a long time ago, and now, finally the strength of his mind had followed.

It was not as if the ranger wanted to die, for he wanted to live. Just not like this.  
Not at the mercy of the wind.

"Cel, I cannot join you, not yet. Middle earth still needs me, my love. Please… Valar... please…"  
The voice continued. It was a desperate plea for life, for the opportunities it offered, that brought a feeling of shame to Aragorn for wanting to give up.

The ranger had heard the call for help so often these past few days that he had grown immune to it. But this was different though it was almost the same voice that spoke. This was not some cloaked elf-like creature forcing him to move.

This was his Ada.

* * *

He did not fight the orcs that held his father captive, though when they started torturing him he could barely restrain himself.  
Watching his father in captivity had kindled a burning anger inside of him that made him forget about the light in the distance or the air that surrounded him.

The cloaked figure of the elf held strangely silent as Aragorn stopped all movement towards it, almost as if the ranger was doing what it wanted now.  
But Aragorn paid no attention to it. Even if the air would try to strangle him, he would not move from this place. Not without his father.

The ranger remained hidden behind rocks, watching the orcs. His hands were on the bow he held ready, but did not use. With his shivering hands he was not certain of his aim.  
He waited for his moment.

* * *

It came at dawn, when some of the orcs left to hunt and others moved into the caves to sleep. There were still guards with the prisoner, but no more than two, as this was orc-territory and they did not fear an attack.

The ranger snuck past the orcs, moving closer to his father, choosing knife over bow as he could not risk hitting Elrond.

"_Kill me…"  
_The words, spoken this close to him after the long silence, almost caused the ranger to lose his balance and alert the giant orc he was just trying to sneak past.

For a moment he had to stop moving and get his nerves back under control, as he was shaking too much to move on.

"Kill me" it spoke again. In some way it seemed as if the words were coming from the giant orc, though they were spoken in the elvish tongue. Normally he would have headed it's command, for he had no love for orcs, but he was too weak to fight this orc at the moment and the chances that he would fail and thus alert every orc in the surrounding area were simply to high.

The minute he started to move away from the orc the air grew thicker, harder to breath. He could feel the invisibly fingers stretch out and move around his throat and yet he moved on. He had nearly reached his father.

A bit of air would not stop him now.

* * *

There was a wall in front of him. He could not see it, if he reached out an arm he could not feel it, but the minute he took a step it blew him back. He could not move closer to his father, he could not free him.

No matter how hard he threw himself against the invisible wall, no matter how he fought it with all the strength he had left, the wall did not give way. He could not reach Elrond.

He leaned against the wall, broken defeated.  
"Help me."

For the first time the voice sounded small, pleading, as if it's owner was as much at the end of his strength as he was, and the ranger could hear a sadness behind the voice that was older and deeper than anything the ranger had ever seen or heard before.

He turned his head and saw the cloaked elf standing next to him, its dark eyes not angry anymore, but pleading.

"Please help me."  
The voice of the elf was hoarse, having asked him so many times. The elf's face was young, though in his eyes Aragorn could see they had seen much, maybe too much of the world.

And for the first time the words meant something.  
The figure closed its eyes in pain.

"Kill me. Please… Help me."

The wall was still there, and Aragorn was still leaning against it, seeking support. He was too weary to move.

"Please." The elf spoke again. For a minute the ranger could feel fingers close around his throat again, and mentally he braced himself, but then it was over, the pressure stopped.

"Please." the elf sank to his knees in front of him. As if it was not he, but Aragorn who held the other captive. As if he begged for mercy only Aragorn could give.

"Just kill me." But it was not himself the elf was pointing at; it was the orc.  
And then suddenly Aragorn understood.

"That's it?" he whispered, "That is what this is all about?

You want me to kill the orc?"  
The elf looked up at him, tears in his eyes.  
"That is why you won't let me safe my father?"  
"Please." The elf said, with a voice as if all strength had left him.

The wall had still not disappeared, but Aragorn could feel its strength lessen. Soon he would be able to move through it, free his father, and be out of here. But now that the elf was kneeling at his feet he found he could not.

"I can't fight your orc, I am too weak to fight anything. I will die, your orc will live; we will both lose. Please just let me free my father and I promise I'll be back later."

But the elf pointed at his bow. "Shoot." He said simply.  
Aragorn shook his head. "My hands are shaking too much. I cannot aim!"  
"Shoot."

The wall behind him grew in strength again, as if the elf was gathering all his strength one more time, to get the ranger to do what he wanted, and Aragorn did as he said.

With his last bit of strength he strung his bow, and with shaking hands he pulled the string back.

The moment he released the arrow he knew it would miss the orc's heart and keep him alive and in pain; ready to fight. The moment he released the arrow he knew he had lost.

But then the wind started blowing, and the arrow changed its course.

Aragorn watched how the elf at his feet closed his eyes, and how his face grew pale. And how he disappeared, dissolving into nothing the second the arrow penetrated the orc's body.

Aragorn watched as the winner's smile spread on the elf's lips as he died, just before he disappeared forever.

The wall disappeared, the storm ended abruptly, and while the orcs crawled away as fast as they could, shielding themselves from the bright sunshine, Estel crawled towards his father and freed him as quickly as he could. Then, from the corpse of the orc they took Vilya back, and headed homewards.

* * *

A small elf stood before Mandos, relief in his unusual dark eyes.  
"Anwë" the Vala said.  
The elf nodded.  
"You are Avari."

The elf nodded again.

"I have been told the Avari did not wish to reach Valinor."  
"But I have wished it." The elf said, speaking in the ancient tongue of the first singing elves." I have wished it every second of every era since the first."

"You have wished it so badly you wanted to kill for it, I understand."

Fearcrept back into the elf's eyes.

"And yet in the end you chose not to."

Mandos continued and smiled as the dark elf in front of him lifted his head.

"Enter these Halls, Anwë.Enter these halls and be healed."

_The End_


End file.
